


David Rose: King of Compromise

by iola17



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Compromise, Episode: s07e13 The New Addition, Established Relationship, Humor, Husbands, M/M, Married Life, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iola17/pseuds/iola17
Summary: Patrick has been away for days and David is delighted to have him back. He is significantlylesshappy with the prize Patrick has brought back with him and now seems determined to display around their beautiful home.It may be one of the worst things he's ever seen but for Patrick, he will try to learn to live with it.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 34
Kudos: 115
Collections: Schitt's Creek Season 7





	David Rose: King of Compromise

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCSeason7](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCSeason7) collection. 



> Written for **Prompt:**
> 
> 7x13 - The New Addition
> 
> Patrick wins a prize at a business seminar and it's something terribly gaudy (think the "leg lamp" from A Christmas Story). Patrick is proud of his win, and, of course, is also a troll, so it's definitely going up somewhere in the house. How will David handle this?

Afterwards, David will blame it on being distracted.

After all, Patrick has been out of his sight and out of his reach for five days at a small business conference that someone inconsiderately decided to hold a four-hour drive away. Is it David’s fault that his priority on arriving home to find Patrick’s car in the driveway is to rush inside to see him? And then is it any wonder that, having found his husband conveniently already in the bedroom unpacking, he wastes no time in kissing him and then pulling him down onto the bed so they can celebrate their reunion properly?

Then David is occupied with undoing Patrick’s buttons as quickly as possible and with Patrick’s hands just as eagerly seeking out David’s own bare skin, he could be forgiven for having little attention for anything beyond the borders of their bed. After their time apart, all his focus is reserved for Patrick and the pleased moans he makes when David wriggles down his body and _finally_ gets his mouth on him.

And then when Patrick… and he… suffice it to say, neither of them are too aware of their surroundings for quite some time after that.

It’s only afterwards, as they lie side by side recovering their breath that the rest of the world comes back and other considerations begin to reassert themselves. After a few minutes, David’s bladder gives an uncomfortable twinge and he reluctantly gets out of bed to go to the bathroom. It’s then, as he’s pulling his underwear on, that his eyes fall on the chest of drawers and he freezes in an instant.

“Um… Patrick?”

“Yes?” Patrick asks, voice soft and blissful.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Patrick props himself up on his elbows. His hair is mussed from the pillow and David’s hands and the skin around his lips is pink from their kisses. There’s the tell-tale tinge of an early hickey on his shoulder where David’s kisses had become harder, teeth and tongue rougher as he neared the end. In short, he looks deliciously, utterly wrecked and if the answering ache in David's own scalp and tenderness on the left of his neck is any indication, Patrick isn’t the only one bearing the marks of lust.

David feels an instinctive tug in his gut at the sight his husband makes but forces his eyes back to the monstrosity on the dresser. He nods towards it and Patrick follows his eyeline.

“That.”

“Oh!” Patrick’s voice lifts in understanding and excitement. He hurries to climb off the bed as he continues, “I got it at the conference. They had a contest to see how many ways we could come up with to boost our standing in the local community and I won.”

“You won a frog ornament?” David asks in confusion.

His eyes keep returning to it as if being drawn by a magnet. Or a curse. It definitely seems like the type of object that would come with a curse attached to it.

The frog is posed as if in mid-leap, stretched out with only its hind legs on the ground and its front legs curled in front of it. Rather than the traditional green, its entire body is made of a patchwork of different coloured geometric shapes tessellated together like a Tetris game. The glass frog is maybe forty centimetres tall and mounted on a heavy iron base.

It’s… well, it’s hideous.

“Yes well, the title of the contest was ‘ _Leaping Ahead in Business_ ,’” Patrick says with a small shrug. “So the frog makes sense.”

Personally, David does not think a frog ornament makes sense in any context but he merely hums noncommittally.

“You haven’t seen the best bit,” Patrick says and he leans over to fiddle with something on the base of the ornament. David gets maybe three seconds to appreciate the sight of Patrick’s firm ass and muscled back, still flushed and pleasantly sweaty, before his attention is wrenched away when the frog illuminates.

It’s a fucking lamp.

The light inside casts blotches of colour across the surface of the dresser in a stained-glass effect. Its size already made it difficult to ignore; with it now emitting multicoloured shards of light like an eighties disco lamp, it’s impossible. In one simple flip of a switch, the lamp destroys the careful mahogany and cream aesthetic of their bedroom and David is rendered speechless with dismay.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Patrick says and David has a couple of seconds to register the smile in Patrick’s voice and school his own expression into something more neutral before Patrick turns to him with a bright grin on his face.

The old memory that resurfaces in that moment is unexpected, but all he can think about as he looks at Patrick’s beaming face is that long-ago conversation with Patrick and Stevie when they baselessly accused him of being unable to compromise.

 _He wants compromise? I can compromise,_ something whispers from the depths of David’s brain and with a concerted effort he sucks his lips between his teeth and nods, physically biting down on the words itching to escape.

Instead… "Mmhmm, yep. It’s something,” he agrees when he can trust himself to speak.

“Do you like it?” Patrick asks, eyes shining with delight as he peers at David.

“Mmm.”

“I thought so. The moment I saw that it was the prize I couldn’t wait to see your face.”

David’s face, in fact, is fighting to contort into some expressions very much against his will and really, it’s unfair to expect him to have so much control over his thoughts and muscles when his brain is still sex-drunk and not fully back online.

He brings his hand up to cover his traitorous mouth under the guise of scratching his chin.

“Yep. Well, it’s… here. And this is my face.”

He’s trying his hardest, but however much enthusiasm he tries to inject into his voice, it isn’t coming across and he resorts to nodding wildly to see if that helps sell it.

Strangely, it does. Patrick, usually so astute but with his own perceptions perhaps a little dulled by his long journey home and a recent orgasm, seems satisfied with David’s response. He returns his gaze to the eyesore now taking pride of place in their bedroom. David looks at the left side of Patrick’s face and sees the curve of his smile as he regards his prize.

David needs a minute. Fortunately, his excuse is ready-made as the horror of their new addition has done nothing to detract from the nagging need to use the bathroom and he escapes into the en-suite.

Closing the door behind him, he leans back against the wood and covers his face with his hands, breathing hard through his fingers.

What. The. Fuck.

Of the two of them, it has long been established that David has more of an eye for interior design (indeed, it’s a point that Patrick has conceded to David on multiple occasions without rancour. He’s more than happy with his role on the paperwork side of both the store and their home.) However, David is finding it hard to accept that _anyone_ would fail to see the major problems with the flashy frog lamp.

Still, there’s that irritating voice inside his mind (which alternates between sounding like Stevie or Alexis on any given day, depending on who’s pissed him off most lately. Today it’s Stevie for abandoning him that afternoon to suffer alone through a long, involved conversation with Roland about the dry skin on his feet) reminding him that this is the perfect way to demonstrate his excellent ability to compromise.

Of course, if he’s successful, Patrick will never know just how much of his own sense of style David has compromised. And is there much point in being magnanimous if no one _knows_ about it? It’s a definite flaw in the plan.

Maybe the lamp will break one day – he can only hope – or Patrick will spontaneously decide he hates it too and then David can casually drop into conversation how he only accepted it because it made Patrick happy. Then David can have the best of both worlds; Patrick will know what David has done for him and the lamp will be out of their lives anyway.

In the meantime, he’s going to have to live with it. Patrick has not asked for a lot when it comes to decorating their home and so David can give him this because he loves him and because he is fucking incredible at compromise.

He takes a deep breath as he pushes away from the door, more firmly resolved to his decision.

After he finishes up in the bathroom, he washes his hands and walks back out into the bedroom. His eyes fall on the frog again, impossible to ignore now he’s seen it.

Fuck. How is it worse than he remembered?

He was kind of counting on his memory exaggerating its awfulness. The colours are more vivid than he remembered, the base clunkier, the features uglier. It doesn’t even have any pupils for fuck’s sake. Just two round yellow circles for eyes to stare hauntingly into David’s soul for the rest of his life.

He can’t do this.

He isn’t going to be able to sleep with that thing in the room. It will invade his dreams with its bad taste. He’s going to have to say something.

He opens his mouth and takes a breath, preparing his completely rational and not at all dramatic argument.

“Are you going to stand there or are you coming back to bed?” Patrick asks and David’s gaze darts in the direction of his voice. His mouth snaps shut.

Patrick is back on the bed, still gloriously naked and kneeling unselfconsciously on the rumpled bedsheets. His hand moves down to fondle himself lazily while his eyes travel down David’s body with blatant interest, lips parting as his eyes darken.

David’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight of the gorgeous man waiting for him and he takes a step towards the bed without thinking about it. Patrick grins at him and shuffles forward on his knees to get closer.

“Come on. I’ve missed you,” Patrick says, reaching his free out hand towards David, other hand still moving on his cock. Really, what can David do but close the distance between them, take that offered hand and allow Patrick to pull him down towards him?

“I missed you too,” he replies, just before their lips meet.

As he climbs onto the bed and Patrick’s mouth opens underneath his, he feels his husband’s hands pushing at the waistband of his underwear. David takes over, shoving them down and kicking them off. They fall off the side of the bed but beyond that David does not know or care where they land because Patrick is wrapping his fingers around him, stroking, coaxing, and David groans into their kiss, feeling his banked arousal flare once more.

David cradles Patrick's head in his hands as he kisses him, losing himself in the warmth, the taste of Patrick's mouth and the perfect pressure of the fingers working his cock to hardness. He whines when Patrick draws back but Patrick is reaching down, picking something up from the tangled sheets. It's a bottle of lube and David watches as Patrick clicks open the bottle, squirts some into his hand and then wraps his hand back around David’s cock. 

"Want this in me," Patrick tells him as they both breathlessly watch Patrick stroking him, slicking him up. "Wanna ride you."

"Oh, fuck, yes," David breathes, images of Patrick on top of him, taking his pleasure, filling his head. His cock twitches, and Patrick moans, squeezing him gently. 

Patrick hands him the lube and David opens the bottle but halts when Patrick twists his wrist, tugging him expertly. He closes his eyes, lets himself enjoy the handjob for a few more strokes before he forces himself to lay a hand on Patrick’s wrist. 

"That feels amazing but you have to stop if you want me inside you."

Patrick pouts but gives David’s dick a last squeeze before releasing him. David instantly rues the loss but Patrick soothes him with a kiss. 

David is fully hard now and aching so he quickly lubes up his fingers, reaching down behind Patrick as they kiss to circle his hole. 

Patrick grunts and shifts his knees further apart, giving David space to press the tip of his finger inside. With a gasp into David’s mouth, Patrick breaks the kiss and he curves his back, pushing his ass into David’s fingers.

David's finger slides in maybe another couple of centimetres and he watches Patrick's brow furrow. It isn't the best angle and the both know it. Patrick gives him another quick kiss and before he moves away, David’s finger out of him. He turns and gets down onto his elbows, presenting his beautiful ass and David sucks in a breath at the sight. 

"Come on," Patrick's voice spurs him into action. "Please. Open me up for you?"

"Yeah, yes, God you're so fucking sexy."

David crawls forward, presses first one finger, then two, into his husband’s waiting body. Patrick moans as David expertly stretches him, adding a third finger and biting his lip as he pushes into Patrick's heat. Fuck, he feels incredible. David loves this, loves feeling Patrick letting him in, squeezing tight around him, trusting David with his body as well as his heart. He loves how much Patrick likes having him inside him, always so responsive and vocal when David touches him.

He works his fingers a little deeper, slowly spreads them a little wider while he watches Patrick for signs of discomfort. He doesn't see any, instead Patrick moans and shunts his hips back.

"I want you, David, please, I'm ready," he pants after a few more seconds and David slips his fingers out. 

He moves back as Patrick straightens up and turns to face him with a flushed face. He seizes the abandoned bottle of lube as David lies down on the bed, cock hard against his stomach.

He breathlessly watches Patrick pour a little more lube into his hand and reach out to stroke David’s cock once, twice before he swings a leg over him to straddle him. Holding David in position, Patrick wastes no time in sinking down onto him, both exhaling as David fills him up. 

Once he's fully seated, Patrick pauses, rolls his hips and bites his lower lip as his eyelids droop with pleasure. 

"Feels so good," he murmurs. "So good inside me. David. Love you."

He starts to rock a little and David plants his feet on the bed, gripping onto his husband’s hips as they find a rhythm together, slow and intense. Patrick’s hands brace on David’s chest, helping him move, and his eyes greedily stare down at David, panted breaths and gasped words of love coming through parted lips.

All David can see and all he can feel is Patrick. Patrick is everywhere and Patrick is everything and everything is Patrick and David is more than willing to lose himself in him.

He knows Patrick and Patrick’s body so well. David knows what Patrick likes and as soon as Patrick has established a rhythm, David uses his footing on the bed to buck up into him in time, pushing into him a little harder, sinking a little deeper.

Patrick’s reaction is instant. A loud gasp turns into a hissed out, “ _Yes_ ,” the final sibilant ‘s’ carrying on as his eyelids flutter and his fingers reflexively curl, nails digging into David’s skin. He doesn’t alter his steady pace, David meeting him each time and relishing each moaned repetition of his name, each breathy word of praise or agreement, each grunt of pleasure he can draw from his husband.

Patrick knows David’s body too and how to use his own to make David feel amazing. His knees grip David’s sides with just enough pressure to make him feel held and secure while angling his body perfectly, giving David enough friction and depth to have his stomach clenching and waves of pleasure radiating over him. Patrick is hot and tight around him and his hands roam over David’s upper body, fingers tangling in his chest hair and David can’t keep his own groans and curses back, revelling in the sensations rocketing through his body.

When Patrick’s rhythm changes, riding David faster as he gets closer, David releases one of Patrick’s hips to take his cock in hand, urging him closer to the edge.

"Come on, wanna feel you come, come with my cock in you, so beautiful, love you so much," he babbles and Patrick groans above him, rocking desperately.

David keeps his hand moving on Patrick even as he drives up into him, his own orgasm gathering low in his stomach. Another minute or so and Patrick comes with a drawn out moan, his body spasming around David who is not far behind, managing a few more thrusts upwards before he stills and cries out as his release washes over him.

Patrick’s hands stroke soothingly down David’s chest as David comes back to himself and when he opens his eyes Patrick is still sitting on top of him, catching his breath and looking as dazed and sated as David feels.

He smiles and bends down to kiss David before shifting and climbing off him with shaky legs. He collapses at David’s side and a short laugh escapes him, an involuntary, giddy sound that spears joy into David’s heart.

They spend some time wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging kisses and gentle words but as much as David would like to, they can’t linger all evening in bed. There’s clean-up to do before too much time passes, David’s body feeling grosser the further they drift from the afterglow. The rumbling of Patrick’s stomach also reminds them that neither of them have eaten since lunch and so they grudgingly climb out of bed, take turns in the shower (for the sake of staying on task, they decide against a joint shower), and head downstairs to see what they can throw together from what’s left in the refrigerator.

Their grocery order is not due for a couple of days so they’re down to the bare bones but they have pasta and tomatoes and mince rapidly defrosted in the microwave. David puts the water on to boil for the spaghetti and pours them both a glass of wine while Patrick starts cooking the meat.

David seats himself at the island in the kitchen, a contented warmth settling in his chest as he watches his husband poking the spaghetti down with a spoon and turning the water down so it doesn’t boil over.

With everything bubbling away, Patrick takes the offered glass of wine and leans on the opposite side of the island from David, the pair of them chatting lightly and exchanging stories of their time apart while their food cooks.

They relocate to the kitchen table to eat their bolognese, Patrick excitedly filling David in on the highlights of the conference between bites while David tries his best to listen instead of just admiring the passionate gleam in Patrick’s eyes and the play of light across his face.

Fuck, David’s missed him. It’s not the same here without him.

Patrick catches him staring and rolls his eyes, although the effect is diminished by the pleased smile that overtakes his face. David shrugs, unashamed to be caught looking, and reaches over the table to grasp Patrick’s hand in his.

After dinner they tidy up and move to the living room to watch television before bed, putting on some rerun of a sitcom they’ve seen a thousand times before so it doesn’t matter so much when they inevitably ignore it in favour of discussing anything that comes into their head. Before too long, this too stops and they’re making out on the couch while the tinny laughter track sings out from the television.

Blindly, David gropes for the remote and switches the TV off without looking, cutting a punchline off midway through. He stands from the couch, pulling Patrick with him and they scramble upstairs, barely remembering to turn the lights out on the way to the bedroom.

They fuck again, undressing and tumbling onto the bed together, hungry hands tugging and touching wherever they can reach, gasping each other’s names between eager kisses and stuttered groans.

When they’re done, Patrick disappears to the bathroom and, exhausted, David barely keeps his eyes open to take the washcloth Patrick hands to him on his return to clean himself off. Patrick takes it back from him when he’s finished and goes to drop it in the laundry.

David’s eyes fall closed. By the time Patrick returns to the bedroom, switches the light off and climbs into bed beside him David’s already fast asleep.

It’s dark when he wakes, startled into consciousness by the slamming of a car door somewhere outside. He blinks at the ceiling, thoughts foggy as he tries to orientate himself. Beside him, Patrick is sleeping heavily, breath steady and deep and David rubs his eyes before lifting his head to turn and look at the serenely sleeping face of his beloved husband.

And jumps out of his fucking skin.

His heart hammers in his chest, bewildered fear choking him at the sight of two round yellow eyes staring at him from the foot of the bed.

He rockets from half-asleep to wide awake in a fraction of a second, shooting bolt upright in bed, causing the blanket to fall to his waist. Cold air hits his bare chest, he shivers in response and the hairs raise on his arms, a combination of the chill and the terror gripping him.

It takes a few seconds of being absolutely convinced that he and his husband are about to be murdered in their bed (David taking absolutely no comfort in the fact that the murderer seems to be standing a little closer to Patrick and if that’s not love he doesn’t know what is) before understanding hits him.

It’s the fucking frog lamp. He glares at it, its form solidifying before him as his eyes adjust to the dark and his heart rate slows. There’s a small gap in the curtains, through which a thin stream of yellow from a streetlight shines at just the right height to reflect off the creature’s eyes.

Grumbling, he gets out of bed and stalks to the window, firmly tugging the gap closed and cancelling out the light. The room falls into darkness, the frog’s eyes no longer glowing but instead of heading back to bed he pauses a moment before sighing and reaching over to turn it around to face the wall for good measure. It’s surprisingly heavy, even for its size and there goes any hope David had of a strong gust of wind from the window blowing it off the dresser.

Over on the bed, Patrick shifts, his hand reaching out across the sheets. The dark outline of Patrick’s head lifts from the pillow and he looks over at David’s side of the bed before peering around in the darkness.

When he spots David standing naked by the chest of drawers he makes a small, questioning sound. “David?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” David returns, trying to be as nonchalant as possible while lurking motionless in the dark like he’s fucking Nosferatu.

Had Patrick been more awake, he might have queried this further but as it is he merely lets his head fall back onto the pillow with a sigh.

“Come back to bed. S’early,” he murmurs, voice slurring as he slips back towards sleep and David feels an affectionate glow in his chest as he sees Patrick’s body relax back into slumber.

As he heads back to bed he repeats his decision to himself - for Patrick, the frog lamp will stay.

But in the light of day, David once again has cause to regret his middle-of-the-night resolve. By the time he wakes up, Patrick is already out of bed and has swivelled the lamp around again so that the first thing David sees when he opens his eyes and sits up is its vacuous face. He bares his teeth at it; it remains unperturbed and David sighs as he swings his legs out of bed and goes in search of Patrick, determinedly not looking at the lamp on the way out.

The store is busy that day so he has little time to work out how he’s going to ask that the frog lamp be turned around to face the wall every night without it sounding like a weird request (which it is, he knows it is, but he can’t risk catching sight of it again in the middle of the night. He was lucky the thing didn’t give him a heart attack the first time round.)

He’s still not come up with a solution as they’re making their way home that evening.

The best idea he can think of is to convince Patrick that he feels uncomfortable having an animal – even one made of glass – watching them fuck so he needs it facing the wall. Of course, for that to be plausible every night they’d need to have sex every night which, you know, is a noble ambition and would be absolutely fine with him. In reality, however, it’s probably not sustainable in the long run.

When they arrive home, Patrick offers to make a start on dinner while David returns a missed call from his mother. What is intended to be a quick catch-up call turns into forty-five minutes of his mother regaling him with the latest tales from the Sunrise Bay set. Once she gets onto the topic of her disagreement with the wardrobe department over what Vivian would choose to wear for her reunion with her long-lost uncle there is no stopping her. All David can do is listen through to the end, offering the odd murmur of agreement when he thinks he’s been silent too long.

Patrick pokes his head through the doorway at around the twenty-seven-minute mark and raises a concerned brow. David covers the mouthpiece to quickly tell him it’s nothing serious and apologises for not helping him but Patrick waves it off, mouthing at him to take his time before disappearing again.

By the end of her tale, Moira seems to have calmed a little and is in a much more sanguine state of mind about her next day on set. She bids him 'adieu' and requests that he pass on her good wishes to ‘dearest Patrick’ before allowing him to hang up.

David sits for a moment on the couch to regroup before standing and making his way through to the kitchen.

Patrick is standing by the stove, his back to the doorway, with his phone quietly playing music on the counter beside him while he checks something in a pot. His head is bobbing slightly in time to the beat and David watches fondly as Patrick replaces the lid on the saucepan and bends down to peer into the oven below.

He starts to move towards Patrick, quietening his movements with the intention of sneaking up behind him and wrapping his arms around him from behind. Patrick always sighs and melts into him so beautifully when David presses against his back and kisses him in that one spot underneath his left ear and…

His thought process grinds to a halt when he spots the new addition to the kitchen table and he blinks, trying to make sense of what he is seeing.

It’s the frog lamp, the one David had thought was safely confined to just the one room (and he was not particularly happy about giving it that much leeway.) But no. Apparently it is now free to wander and disturb the décor of the whole house.

He’s frowning at it when Patrick turns and sees him.

“Dinner will be a few minutes,” he says before following the direction of David’s eyes. “Oh! I thought we could try it out in here. Something nice to look at as we eat.”

David’s throat is tight but he manages to squeeze out a faint, “It’s certainly… eye-catching.”

Patrick hums happily. “Isn’t that the point of centrepieces?”

Personally, David believes subtle is better for centrepieces so as not to detract from the food. They should also be significantly smaller than this lamp so you can at least see your dining companions.

He doesn’t say this, the word _compromise_ once more rising to the forefront of his mind.

“Sometimes,” is what comes out of his mouth instead.

“We can only try it,” Patrick says. “I want to find the ideal place for us to show it off.”

With considerable effort, David wrenches his eyes away from the multi-coloured amphibian. Patrick turns back to the stove and messes with the knob on the front, turning the heat down before lifting the lid on the saucepan again. A billow of steam escapes and Patrick leans back slightly to keep his face out of its path as it travels up towards the ceiling.

David walks over to see if there’s anything he can do and, seeing that Patrick has the cooking side of things under control, proceeds to gather cutlery and lay the table. The action takes him far closer to the frog lamp than he would like but he keeps his eyes averted as much as possible.

By the time he’s finished, Patrick is taking the chicken kiev out of the oven and plating it up. He drains the potatoes and broccoli, adds that to the plates as well and they sit down to eat.

“How’s your mom?” Patrick asks when they’re settled in their seats and have taken a few bites.

“Fine. Single-minded. She says hi.” David has to lean to the left slightly to be able to see Patrick clearly around the frog.

“Single-minded?”

“She has opinions about the message Vivian is sending through her clothes.” David says. He slices into his chicken and a river of hot buttery garlic oozes out, spreading across the plate.

“Is the director taking them on board?” Patrick asks.

“Do you think they’ll have a choice? She isn’t going to give up.”

Patrick laughs and David wishes his view weren’t obstructed. Patrick is beautiful when he laughs. He's beautiful always. 

“Fair point. I suppose she _does_ know the character very well. She’s bound to want some input.”

“She’d want input even if it was a new character. Didn’t you see that interview she did after the Crows premiere where she talked about what kind of feathers they should have used for Clara Mandrake’s costume?”

“As in, immediately after the premiere?” Patrick asks. “David, I barely remember anything about that day, I was out of it on painkillers. Anything I do remember feels like a fever dream.”

“No, no. It came out a couple of days later. It was an online article.” David mops up some of the garlic sauce with a piece of potato and scoops it into his mouth, humming happily as the rich taste hits his tongue.

“I think I must have missed that one,” Patrick says.

“Doesn’t matter,” David replies. “Point is, she thinks they should have based the fake feathers on ravens rather than rooks.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, perplexed. “I wouldn’t have thought your mother was into birds.”

“She isn’t. But she found out during her research that ravens are bigger so she thought their feathers would look more impressive.”

“I guess that makes sense. The filmmakers didn’t agree?”

“They’d already ordered thousands of hand-made feathers and their budget didn’t even accommodate transport to and from set for the actors or catering. Mom’s Bosnian family had to make her a packed lunch. They definitely weren’t going to spend more money to reorder the feathers.”

“Ah.”

David finishes his chicken and leans back in his chair. Around the base of the lamp he can see Patrick finishing off his meal as well and he picks up his wine glass to take a drink.

It’s getting darker in the kitchen and Patrick absently reaches out to switch on the lamp, bathing the kitchen table in bright colours as he stabs his last piece of potato and brings it to his mouth.

David closes his eyes but he would swear the light is insidiously worming its way between the seam of his eyelids, the lamp spitefully proclaiming its presence despite David’s attempts to ignore it. He gives up and opens his eyes again.

“So,” he broaches the subject after a moment. “What do you think? Is the lamp staying here?”

He doesn’t know what to hope for. It either stays here and he’s going to have to think of a reason why they can never have guests over again to avoid it being seen, or it goes back into their bedroom and David will have to find a way to sleep with those eerie eyes staring at him night after night.

Patrick puts his fork down and reaches for his glass as he considers.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I don’t think it’s the right fit. Maybe on the table in the hall? More people would see it that way; if they’re just here for a visit they might not come into the kitchen.” He takes a sip of wine and then reaches out to gently tug at the lead. “Plus, I think this trailing off the table to the plug socket is a problem. It might get caught and pulled off by accident.”

David had had a similar thought himself, although in his version it was less ‘by accident,’ more ‘by divine intervention.’

“What do you think?” Patrick prompts and David realises he’s been silent a few seconds too long. “Can we try it in the hall?”

_Compromise, he didn’t ask for much when we decorated, compromise, he really likes it, compromise, you don’t want him to feel bad._

David takes a deep breath and drags a smile on to his face just as Patrick peeks around the lamp to look at him. Patrick’s position puts him in the path of the multi-coloured rays coming off the lamp and splashes of orange and green stain his features. He reminds David a little of those factory workers in the traumatic film Alexis used to like as a child. David isn’t a fan of the look on his husband.

“If you like,” he replies and Patrick’s smile does nothing to diminish the ghoulish Oompa Loompa effect. David is relieved when he leans back out of the light.

So they try it.

Patrick moves the lamp into the hallway after dinner and it stays on the table until the following evening when Patrick, sitting beside David on the couch sighs heavily and says it’s not right there either. They don’t spend enough time in the hallway to properly appreciate it, he says, and wouldn’t David prefer to have it somewhere they could see it more often?

So from there they move it into the living room, where it glowers over them from the end table like a vulture circling its prey and makes it impossible for David to concentrate on anything but its skulking presence.

Patrick starts up the pilot episode of a new series they’ve had on their list for a while and half an hour in David realises he has no idea who any of the characters are or what exactly is going on.

The only thing he can say for certain is that something about Jennifer Connelly’s character is very appealing. Apparently the whole business-like brunette in blue thing just _works_ for him and he sneaks a glance over at Patrick, sitting beside him and totally engrossed in the events on screen. Patrick’s shoulders are better though. And he isn’t crazy about the unfortunate jacket Jennifer’s wearing.

These musings don’t distract him for long, however, as he catches sight of the frog looming over them from the corner of his eye and is catapulted back to the far _less_ pleasant sight of the overgrown slimy pond-dweller he now has to learn to live with.

By the end of the first episode, Patrick asks if he wants to watch another and David, rather than admit he has no idea what happened in the first one, suggests something a bit lighter to wind down with before bed. He’ll try and re-watch it in bits on his phone without Patrick realising before they watch episode two. Rather that than admit to him why he wasn’t paying attention.

He also thinks he’s going to have to start subtly shifting the couch by degrees so that he can no longer see the lamp out of the corner of his eye.

He begins the operation the next morning, quietly sneaking into the living room as Patrick is filling the coffee pot and adjusting the couch’s position just a couple of centimetres before standing back and regarding the set-up critically. He determinedly avoids looking at the source of all the trouble, instead focussing on the angles of the couch. It looks alright; the change isn’t too noticeable and they can still see the television. A few more days and he’ll shift it a little more until he is sure the lamp is out of sight when he’s sitting in his favoured spot.

Satisfied, he heads out of the room, giving the lamp a wide berth as he does so. He _knows_ bad taste can’t spread through touch but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.

It’s another busy day at the store, one of the more profitable weekdays they’ve seen for a while. By the time they arrive home, they’re both exhausted but happy. Rather than cook, they decide to order in and David goes off for a shower and to change into clean clothes while they wait for the pizza to arrive.

He heads downstairs after washing away the grime of the day and the first thing he sees on entering the living room is Patrick on the couch, laptop open on his knee as he checks his email.

The second thing he notices is that the frog lamp is nowhere to be seen and the sight of the empty space on the end table fills him with apprehension. It’s like losing sight of a spider – seeing an eight-legged arachnid scuttling across the floor is disgusting and horrifying, yes, but it’s far, _far_ worse when you realise it’s disappeared. Knowing that it’s somewhere out there but not knowing where or when it will appear again vastly outweighs the relief that you can’t see it anymore.

“Where’s it gone?” he blurts out instead of any of the hundreds of other more normal ways to greet someone you love.

Patrick jumps a little and cranes his head around to see David standing in the doorway.

“Sorry? Hey, did you move the couch?” Patrick asks.

“What?”

“The couch. The distance from the coffee table seemed off.”

“I… maybe? I was trying something out.”

Patrick looks confused but nods slowly and not for the first time, David is grateful that Patrick seems to place such trust in David’s design decisions. Just in case Patrick decides to query it further, David quickly repeats his earlier question. “Where’s the lamp gone?”

“Oh!” Patrick grimaces apologetically. “Sorry, I should have discussed it with you. I moved it back into our bedroom.”

“What?” He tries his best to conceal the horror in his voice, he really does.

“Yeah,” Patrick shrugs. “It didn’t really go in here either and I know how much you loved it. This way it will be one of the first things we see when we wake up.”

That’s assuming David can fall asleep with it in the room to begin with.

The ping of an email momentarily distracts Patrick’s attention back to the computer which is good as David has no idea what his face is doing. He has a few seconds to wrestle his features back under control before Patrick looks up again. Forewarned is forearmed he supposes, so at least now he knows where it is he can strike off the worry that he’s going to walk into the bathroom to see it grinning at him from the toilet cistern.

“So we’re trying it on the dresser again?” he asks.

“No, it’s on my bedside table,” Patrick replies. “Unless you prefer it on the dresser? Or if you like we can put it on your bedside table instead?”

“No! No, that’s okay.”

“I just thought,” Patrick explains. “You already have the lamp Alexis gave us when we moved in on your side. We can swap if you want, I don’t mind.”

David shakes his head quickly. He feels a little like he’s going to give himself whiplash so deliberately slows it down. When Patrick’s brow furrows David thinks he’s gone too far in the other direction and his movements are now unnaturally slow, verging on the speed exhibited by zombies trudging down the street in search of brains in a B-horror movie.

“Are you alright?” Patrick asks.

“Yes. No,” David replies and Patrick’s confused look deepens. “I mean, yes, I’m fine,” David elaborates. “No, we don’t have to switch the lamps. You can keep the fr- I’ll keep Alexis’ lamp near me, you can have the… the other one on your side.”

Patrick blinks at him but David is saved by the ringing of the doorbell. He dashes out to answer it and possibly attempt to invite the pizza delivery guy in to join them just to avoid any more conversation about the lamp.

But when he answers the door, the pizza delivery man is surly and refuses to engage in any conversation further than, “You paid online, right?” merely grunting ambiguously when David asks if he’s had a lot of deliveries this evening.

He leaves David with two medium pizza boxes, a garlic bread, and with no clear idea of how busy Elmdale’s main pizza place is tonight or indeed how they choose their employees as customer service and friendliness are obviously not high on the list of required attributes.

In a rare stroke of good luck for David, Patrick appears to have forgotten what they were talking about before David left to answer the door and they eat their dinner while discussing Marcy and Clint’s upcoming ruby wedding anniversary in the summer. David and Patrick are travelling up for the party and to spend the weekend and the question of who they can leave in charge of the store is looming large. Stevie has the motel to consider and might be out of town and with Alexis in New York their options are limited.

David half-heartedly suggests they close the store down for the few days they’re out of town but they’re both reluctant. After all, they can’t do that every time they go on a trip and they _have_ been considering bringing another employee or two on now the business is secure and profits are growing. Perhaps this is the perfect time to start the search, so that whoever they choose can be trained up to a sufficient standard by August to be trusted to look after the place for a couple of days.

They agree to try to put together an advertisement during the quiet periods at the store tomorrow and settle down in front of the television to unwind.

Unfortunately, although David was lucky to escape having to discuss the lamp placement in their bedroom further, the problem has not resolved itself. The thing is still there, towering over them malevolently from Patrick’s bedside when they go to bed and it is exceptionally difficult to kiss Patrick goodnight while David can _feel_ it staring at them.

David considers returning to his earlier idea of asking Patrick to turn it to face the wall but realises this is an odd request and is sure Patrick would question it. Before he can quite make up his mind whether to bring it up or not, Patrick is yawning, lying down and turning on his side to switch the lamp off.

Unlit, the lamp is marginally less horrendous and at least out of the path of the window there is less chance of waking up to glowing yellow eyes in a repeat of the other night. David’s own exhaustion is becoming hard to ignore and he turns off the inoffensive light gracing his bedside, plunging the room into a darkness so thick it blocks out all but the vaguest silhouette of the frog light. Thank fuck for blackout curtains.

He sighs, fatigue tugging at his eyelids, and slots himself against Patrick’s back, wrapping his arm around Patrick’s waist. Patrick makes a soft, sleepy noise and snuggles back against him. The warm solidity of his body in David’s arms soothes and settles something inside him and his eyes close, blocking out everything but the feel of Patrick against him and the regular expansion and contraction of Patrick’s back against his chest with every steady, even breath he takes.

With such comforting sensations to focus on, sleep is swift in descending. Once he realises he’s drifting, he only has the shortest of moments to be thankful that his predictions about the lamp’s effect on his sleep pattern were wrong before he sinks into unconsciousness.

He wakes before both Patrick and their alarm the next morning, dragged into consciousness by the need to pee. He grumbles to himself quietly, trying to convince his body that it can last the half an hour until the alarm goes off so he doesn’t have to leave his cosy cocoon. He closes his eyes again, grasping desperately at the receding edge of sleep, trying to pull it towards him once more but the harder he tries, the more resistant it is and after a minute or two he concedes defeat.

He opens his eyes once more, resigned to his night’s sleep being over. During the night they’ve shifted, David now lying on his back and Patrick on his side beside him, a hand stretched out to rest on David’s stomach.

Slowly, carefully, David shuffles to the side, trying his utmost not to disturb his slumbering husband who grunts a little in his sleep when David gently lifts his hand from his stomach to place it beside him on the mattress.

He gets out of bed, casting a look over at Patrick to check he hasn’t woken him. He hasn’t; Patrick dreams on soundly, eyes flickering beneath his lids and his mouth hanging open slightly. It’s a look that shouldn’t be as cute as it is but David can’t help pausing to appreciate the picture he makes before he reluctantly turns away to drag himself into the bathroom.

Patrick is awake when he returns, sitting up in bed and blinking the sleep from his eyes. His cheek is lined red where he has been lying on the pillow and David’s heart squeezes in his chest, particularly when Patrick smiles sleepily at him. Patrick lifts the covers for him and David obligingly lowers himself back into the bed, leaning over to kiss Patrick’s sleep-warm cheek.

“Did I wake you?” he whispers, a regular speaking voice seeming somehow wrong in the early stillness of their bedroom.

Patrick shakes his head. “Wanted to get an early start anyway,” he murmurs back, matching David’s low tone. Despite his words, he makes no move to get up, but raises his arm in invitation for David to slide underneath. David sighs as he relaxes into Patrick’s side and Patrick pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

Across the room, grey light is sneaking in around the edges of the curtains and David absent-mindedly watches it creep further across the wall, enjoying the weight of Patrick’s arm on his shoulders, the heat of him at his side.

Lulled by the peace of the room, David feels sleep pulling at him again and contemplates snuggling down to close his eyes once more. He knows Patrick is awake and won’t let himself lie down again but while Patrick may be of the opinion that there is little point in closing his eyes again for the sake of ten minutes, David believes in getting as much sleep as possible.

He shuffles back down and Patrick lets his arm fall from around him, his hand coming instead to softly stroke David’s hair back from his forehead, a privilege he would only ever afford to Patrick and only during this time, when David has not yet performed his morning routine.

He isn’t aware of falling asleep but he must do because when the alarm rudely blares out minutes later, Patrick is gone and he is alone in bed.

He reaches over to Patrick’s side of the bed to turn the alarm off, careful even in his semi-awake state not to let his skin touch the frog lamp standing beside it. He’d almost forgotten about it, but there it is, still staring at him. He falls back on the pillow with an annoyed grunt born half out of irritation that it is officially morning and half out of disgust that the lamp is stubbornly continuing to exist.

Now that the alarm has stopped he can hear the echoing of running water from the bathroom down the hall answering the question of where Patrick has gone. Knowing how efficient Patrick is in the morning, he won’t be long and David hauls himself out of bed and starts to select his clothes for the day, ready for taking into the bathroom when it is his turn for a shower.

Sure enough, as he’s selecting a sweater, the water switches off and a few minutes later Patrick enters the bedroom, already dressed and rubbing at the back of his head with a burgundy towel.

He stops when he sees David, a smile crinkling his eyes. “Morning,” he says. “Thought you were going back to sleep.”

“Alarm,” David explains, after accepting the quick kiss Patrick leans up to give him.

“Oh. Sorry, I forgot to unset it,” Patrick replies, moving away to open the third dresser drawer down and retrieving his hairdryer. “I would have let you sleep a bit longer.” He crouches down to plug the hairdryer into the wall.

“Thanks,” David replies. “But you wanted to get to the store early, right?”

“Yeah, but I would have waited if you were tired.”

“I’m fine,” David says. “I’m going to go for a shower.”

Patrick stands and lays the hairdryer on the dresser as he turns to face David. “Before you go, that reminds me. I had a thought in the shower: how about we take our new lamp to the store?”

David is confused. Patrick has made no secret about loving that lamp and while David would be pleased to have the thing out of the house, the question remains… “Why?” he asks.

Patrick shrugs, eyes darting all over David’s face. “I want to show it off. We can move it all over the house but the truth is, far more people can appreciate it at the store. We can put it right where everyone can see it. Do you think we can use it in a display?”

No. No, no, no. Fuck compromise, some things are beyond compromise.

Something inside him is wailing at the thought of bringing it into their beautiful store, allowing customers to think it is part of their design scheme. He refuses point blank to even consider putting it front and centre in a display.

But how can he tell Patrick this without upsetting him?

The answer isn’t clear and sucks his lips into his mouth, thinking more furiously than he thinks he ever has at this time in the morning.

He looks down at the floor so he doesn’t have to look at Patrick staring at him, waiting for an answer. It doesn’t stop him sensing Patrick’s eyes on him though and David takes a deep breath, preparing to speak and hoping the right words will present themselves when he needs them. It’s never happened before but there’s a first time for everything.

He looks up.

And pauses. Looks closer.

He’d caught the tail end of _something_ on Patrick’s face before it skittered away. A particular quirk of his lips before he smoothed it out into an innocent smile, an odd gleam in his eye before it disappeared in the space between blinks.

A suspicion is edging its way into David’s mind and his eyes narrow as he peers at Patrick. He studies that face he knows so well, reading the flickers and micro-expressions that are so familiar to him and suddenly he can see what he’s been missing. The more he looks, the more certain he becomes.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he says flatly.

“What?” Patrick’s eyes widen but it’s too late. David folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. There’s a solid three seconds before Patrick breaks.

His perplexed look disappears, melting into an abashed expression although a hint of laughter still dances in his eyes. “I’m sorry, David,” he says.

“You know the lamp is awful?” David asks and Patrick nods in confirmation.

“Of course it is,” Patrick replies. “Look at it. I knew you’d hate it.”

Relief battles with annoyance in David’s chest. “This week was not fun for me.”

The laughter fades from Patrick’s expression and he nods, contriteness overtaking his face. “I know. I was joking around when I said I liked it, I was sure you’d tell me how bad it was the moment you saw it but you didn’t. I just… carried it on because I wanted to see how long you'd go along with it and then I wasn’t sure how to call it off.” He tilts his head curiously. “Why _did_ you go along with it?”

David shrugs diffidently, looks down at his feet as he shifts foot to foot. “I thought you liked it. Didn’t want you to accuse me of being uncompromising again.”

“Oh.” Patrick’s socked feet are silent on the floor but suddenly Patrick is right there in front of him. His arms wrap around David and pull him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I love that you wanted to do that for me. Thank you.”

“It didn’t matter,” David mutters. “You didn’t like it so it was an empty gesture anyway.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Patrick insists. “You wanted to make me happy and I am so lucky. I love you and I am sorry I made you feel like you had to prove something to me.”

David lets himself relax a little in Patrick’s arms, embarrassment washing away under Patrick’s soothing words.

“Love you,” he returns, and turns his face to nuzzle into Patrick’s hair. It’s still damp, cool on his face, and smells like the sandalwood shampoo David’s finally managed to persuade him to use rather than the damaging chemical concoction he was using before. Underneath that is the specific scent that screams _Patrick_ to him and he breathes it in, trying to wrap himself up in it.

Patrick hums happily and squeezes David’s waist. “I have to say, I’m glad I can stop pretending to like that lamp as well.”

“Mmm. I’m not going to feel sorry for you for that. You chose to do that.”

“That’s fair,” Patrick says. “But still, I’ll be glad to have it out of the house.”

It’s weird. Now that he knows that Patrick doesn’t like the lamp, he’s feeling strangely more charitable towards it. “We don’t need to get rid of it just… not put it on display?”

Patrick snorts and draws back to look incredulously as David’s face. “David, I don’t want it. _You_ don’t want it. Why would we keep it?”

“I don’t know. You won it, aren't you proud of it?”

“I'm happy I won but I’m fine without the lamp,” Patrick replies.

“Oh thank fuck,” David says. “I regretted it the moment I said we could keep it.”

Patrick laughs. “Anyway, I kind of already promised Ray he could have it. I had to keep putting him off while you were pretending to like it but we could drop it off on the way to the store.”

“Ray?”

“Yep,” Patrick confirms. “He was asking how the conference went and I sent him a photo of the lamp. He asked me if I could find out where the organisers got it from as it would fit in perfectly with his new ‘ _River of Love_ ’ engagement photoshoot package. He’s bought a new riverbank backdrop already and has some plastic reeds and toy otters he’s going to give the couples to hold.”

“That’s… is he expecting that to be popular?”

“He already has a booking lined up for this weekend.”

“Oh.”

David shouldn’t be surprised. As weirdly niche as Ray’s ideas sometimes are, he invariably finds someone to take him up on it. He might be a genius. Or a magician. Either way, David doesn’t begrudge Ray a hideous lamp if he thinks it might help.

“Okay, we’ll drop it off on the way to work.”

Patrick nods and steps back. “Right. I’ll take it downstairs. You go for a shower and I’ll make breakfast. Waffles?”

David’s sure that the waffle maker is tucked right at the back of the drawer and Patrick is going to have to empty the drawer completely to find it. It also takes ages to heat up and is hard to clean, all facts that Patrick knows well.

Patrick also knows that David loves waffles and David recognises the peace offering for what it is as Patrick looks at him slightly anxiously.

“You don’t have to,” he hedges because now Patrick’s said it, he really does want waffles.

“Do you want waffles, David?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll make waffles, then,” Patrick says with a smile and turns towards the dresser and the abandoned hairdryer.

David gathers up his clothes and leaves the bedroom to walk down the hall, already looking forward to no frog lamp in the bedroom when he returns and waffles waiting for him downstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> As far as I'm aware, the lamp does not actually exist. It's a mixture of a couple of things - the pose is based on an ornament I saw in a garden centre once, the idea of a lamp came from the prompt itself and I thought making it multi-coloured would most upset David's sense of style. I mean no offence if such a lamp does exist, I'm sure the designers' efforts worked out much better than the mashed-up picture in my head!


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